


Ripped Apart

by toseetheplaceofnomorestars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toseetheplaceofnomorestars/pseuds/toseetheplaceofnomorestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble about Remus post-Mary's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripped Apart

The sky was turning a dusky gray and he inhaled the acidic air. It smelled dangerously close to raining. His hands turned over and over again deep in his pockets as his feet kept him moving.

He didn’t even have to think about or look where he was going. He had been down this street so many times. Steam flooded out of the back doors of the neighbouring restaurants and shops, warming the chilly street.

His feet were full of lead and his hair a disaster. His expression was disheartened and overall, he looked like hell.

Why was he putting himself through this? Did he really need to see this?

Of course he did.

It wasn’t long before he wasn’t able to walk further. He halted at the door and stared at his feet. Was it open? He grasped the handle but it wouldn’t budge. Stuck. He gripped it a little tighter and shoved his shoulder against it and it creaked open.

He had said he was going to fix that. He had promised.

It was too dark. With a raise of his wand the lights lit just enough for him to see.

The whole place was ruined. Covered in flour and wooden debris. Counters had been smashed to bits, displays of delicious pastries completely shattered. Glass crunched under his shoes and he nearly slipped.

His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. Reparo.

He didn’t even bother to watch as the glass and wood began to fly around him. His eyes fell closed and he concentrated on his breathing. This wasn’t good for him. If he wasn’t careful… well, what did it matter anymore?

When the soft tinkling and cracking had stopped, he opened his eyes again. The place looked semi-decent again at least. There was still flour coating the floor, and in some places fruit filling or chocolate icing.

He ran his rough hands over the top of the hardwood counter, remembering its cool feel while the two of them worked in the small kitchen. Remembering the warmth of her breath and the brush of her skin as she would squeeze past to get to the sink. His teasing words and her light laugh.

And then he saw what he had hoped he wouldn’t. There was a semi-clear spot in the dusting of flour, stained with a deep brown. Not a normal chocolate-brown. More of a brick reddish brown. The spot seemed overall person-shaped.

His feet slid from under him and he sunk to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest.

Stolen kisses, her full lips so sweet and gentle against his. Her fingers, gently tracing the scars on his face without a thought. His fingertips lightly pressing into her round hips, pulling her closer. Working late into the hours of the night, but not really working, just finding so much peace in this little shop of their own.

They hadn’t even given her a chance. They had come into this little haven and ripped it to shreds, blasting it apart to get to her. Impure blood, they would say. Not worthy of living.

Then who was Remus, to keep going? He had loved her, maybe he’d been too shy to admit it. But he had nonetheless. If she wasn’t worthy of living, then why was he? After all, he was a werewolf. Surely werewolves of half-blood status were no more worthy than muggleborns.

Why was the world so unfair? Why did it have to be him? Perhaps it was selfish, but they could have taken anyone, and yet they took what was his. What would be next? Would they take Sirius? James, Lily, Peter? Would they keep on taking until nothing that was left on this ungodly earth was his?

The harsh sobs that came ripped from his throat and he couldn’t stop them. His hands slid helplessly against the wood, no traction with the flour. He heard his knuckles pop as his fingers began to elongate and immediately dug his claws into the wood as far as he could, gripping tightly. The splinters dug into his palms and he could feel the blood. He ground his teeth together, halting the transformation at any cost.

No. He wouldn’t. Not in their place. He needed to get out of here.


End file.
